Without Cheese
by poohblaze
Summary: Lunch with Johnnie Ray


Without Cheese

Authors Notes: This is sometime post "Ties My Father Sold Me." As is typical with me, nothing really happens. I am slowly working up to a car chase. Mustn't over-exert myself. Big, combo-plate sized thanks to Owlcroft for another fast and wonderful editing job. One day I hope to master punctuation.

"Go ahead, McCormick, order anything you want."

Hardcastle settled more firmly into the vinyl seat and smiled smugly at his faithful companion. Mark opened up the laminated menu and stared down at it.

"I'll buy you lunch, kiddo. Anything you want." Mark quoted

"I said 'anything'. I didn't say 'anywhere'."

"Yeah, next time I'm reading the fine print."

"Next time I won't lose."

Mark hid a smile at that. It had been a sucker bet. Sort of a name-that-tune game played with the truck's radio. Hardcastle had picked the station so the judge had thought he was a shoo-in to guess the name of one of the singers. But the judge hadn't counted on the fact that Mark's mother had been a huge Johnnie Ray fan. All of his songs were embedded in Mark's brain somewhere along with other bits of useless trivia. Things like driver stats, old phone numbers, and the proper way to trim a hedge. Worthless things like that.

Mark eyed the menu. "'Welcome to Burger Tsar. Where Burgers Are.' Catchy."

"You gonna order or what?"

"Well, let's see. They have the traditional hamburger. Always a classic. And, oh look, here's a unique spin. They have one here where they put cheese on the hamburger. What will they think of next?"

"I'm not shelling out for some Chez Whatsis just for a dumb radio bet."

"It's only dumb 'cause you lost."

Hardcastle grunted at that. He'd been amazed that Mark had won. But Hardcastle actually hadn't actually minded losing. It was nice to see McCormick so gleeful in his victory. He'd been in a bit of a funk since they'd gotten back from New Jersey. Not that he blamed the kid. It's not every day that your father decides he has better things to do than get to know you. He'd tried a little ineptly to make it up to McCormick. Offered to hang around Atlantic City a bit with him. But Mark couldn't wait to run back home. To get as far away from Sonny Daye as he could.

A tiny waitress in a brown and white uniform came up to their table. McCormick was still lost in the menu.

"You gonna order or not?" Hardcastle said.

Mark glanced up from the menu to see the waitress standing by their table. She was a few years older than he was and had pretty blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Pad poised, she looked down at them. Mark glanced at her name tag.

"Hi, Mindy. Help me out here, what's the most expensive thing on the menu?"

"Uh," Mindy thought for a moment and then leaned over and pointed at an item on his menu. "The Catherine the Great Special."

Mark eyed it. $9.98. Not bad. "What is it?"

"It's a double cheeseburger," Mindy said proudly and then added the coup de grace. "With fries _and_ coleslaw."

"Wow. Catherine the Great lived on the edge. Okay, gimme that." Mark closed his menu and smiled over at the judge.

"You keep eating like that, you're gonna die of a heart attack."

"Oh yeah? What are you having?"

Hardcastle closed his menu and looked up at Mindy. "I'll just have a hamburger."

"Real healthy there, Hardcase."

"Hey, at least I'm not having cheese."

"Would you like cheese?" Mindy asked eagerly. "Because we can put that on for an extra ten cents."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute." Mark opened his menu again. "A hamburger is $4.98. A cheeseburger is $5.98. But a hamburger with cheese is, what, $5.08?"

"Uh huh."

"But what's the difference?"

Mindy gave him a slightly bewildered look. "Well, one's a cheeseburger," she said patiently, "and one's a hamburger with cheese."

"Never mind him," Hardcastle broke in. "We don't let him out much on account of the head injury."

"Oh," Mindy said pityingly. "That's so tragic. Are you with the church?"

"The what?" Hardcastle asked.

Mindy nodded towards the side window. "The church. They have adult day care. They come in sometimes."

The judge stared out the window.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"Huh?" Hardcastle looked back at her. "No, we're fine."

"Okay, it'll be right up." The judge looked back out the window as Mindy headed towards the kitchen.

"He changed churches," Mark said.

"Yeah."

A large sign stood outside the church across the street. It read: "Sunday Service 10:00 a.m. 'The Power of Redemption' Father Joseph Attia." They both stared at the sign.

Mark broke the silence. "I'll never get used to California churches. All that stucco. It's weird."

"It's mission style."

"Not a whole lot of Spanish missions in New Jersey. Just looks weird to me."

Hardcastle nodded absently, still staring at the sign. "We should stop in. Say hi or something."

Mark nodded. "Yeah, okay." Then he thought for a moment. "Unless he's in like some witness protection program for priests."

Hardcastle gave him an incredulous look. "A what?"

"Well, since the trial it's pretty well known who his old man is. He switched churches. Maybe he's trying to lay low."

"Lay low with his name on a great big roadside sign. Brilliant plan."

Mark chuckled. "Oh. Yeah, right. I guess safe-house churches are a little far-fetched. Okay, sure, let's say hello if he's in."

Hardcastle leaned forward, put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his palm. "How do you figure, a guy like Joe Cadillac having a kid who's a priest."

Mark sipped his water. "You think Father Attia knew? I mean back when he decided to be a priest. You think he knew what his dad was?"

Hardcastle shrugged. He'd wondered that himself. "I think he probably did. It wasn't any big secret that Cadillac was one of the top mob men on the West Coast. Everybody knew it, we just couldn't prove it."

"Hmm." Mark started rotating his water glass in his hands, his fingers leaving designs in the condensation.

"Hmm what?" Hardcastle asked.

Mark's hands stilled and he looked across the table at the judge. "I was just wondering. You think he joined the priesthood for himself or for his father?"

Hardcastle frowned in confusion. "For his father? I don't know, McCormick, you may have noticed that Joe Cadillac's not all that devout. Although I guess you could say he's pretty well up on the Old Testament."

Mark gave him a quick grin. "Yeah, I figured out that he ain't exactly doctrinaire. That's not what I meant." Mark pointed his chin at the sign in front of the church. "'The Power of Redemption'. You think maybe Father Attia is trying to make up for his father somehow?"

Hardcastle stared at Mark for a moment and then looked out the window again. "I don't know. Maybe. I don't think it works that way though."

"You don't?"

"They're separate people, McCormick. Father Attia isn't responsible for Joe Cadillac."

"I know they're separate people. I'm just thinking that, you know, Father Attia is his son. So he's part of Joe Cadillac. So maybe a little bit he can make up for him. Or maybe he thinks that."

Hardcastle looked back at him. "I don't know. Maybe he does." The judge frowned to himself. His reply seemed inadequate. He got the feeling that Mark meant more than what he was saying.

"Or maybe," Mark continued, "he's just trying to be as different as he can. Like the anti-Cadillac."

"Anti-Cadillac. What is that, a Toyota?"

Mark snorted and then smiled at Hardcastle. "Anyway, I bet Father Attia doesn't like his old man's book."

"He's not the only one," Hardcastle replied, irritated. He knew of at least three people who were considering suing Cadillac for slander. Aside from him.

Mark grinned at him. "Admit it, you just don't like the book 'cause he called you simian in it."

"He said I was like a gorilla." The judge grumbled.

"You can't sue him over a metaphor."

"It was a simile and I'll sue him if I want to." Hardcastle answered petulantly.

"Simile, metaphor, or accurate eye-witness testimony, you're never gonna sue him. It would upset Father Attia."

Hardcastle huffed lightly. "I think that'd be the least of Father Attia's concerns. And you said Attia didn't like the book either."

"I'm just guessing. Because of the title."

Hardcastle cocked his head . "Without Sin?"

"Yeah. Not very Catholic. Everyone's got sin."

"Some more than others."

"Yeah." Mark sipped more water. "I wonder if Cadillac ever went to confession." He chuckled. "Can you imagine confessing to your own son? Weird." He paused and then said more thoughtfully, "Actually, it's pretty weird to call your son 'Father.'"

"Yeah, well you call your father 'Sonny'."

It just slipped out. Hardcastle could have bitten his tongue. Sonny Daye was not a safe topic of conversation. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Bt Mark just shrugged and said, "Maybe we should switch."

They lapsed into silence. It didn't sit comfortably with the judge. Really, what the hell was he thinking to mention Sonny. That was all still too fresh. Well, he couldn't take it back, but he could maybe put out an offering of his own. Even things up a bit.

Hardcastle cleared his throat lightly. "You know, I should have guessed Johnnie Ray. My son used to imitate him all the time."

Mark gave him a startled look and said tentatively, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Hardcastle rolled his eyes. "You know, all the drama."

Mark looked down at the table. His hands were resting in front of him. All the drama. He remembered his mother singing along to "Cry." She'd actually cried a little while she sang it. It seemed so long ago. Back when it was just the two of them. Mark rubbed a finger on the table. "Judge," he said quietly. "you want to know how I found Sonny?"

"No," Hardcastle said firmly, "I don't. I'm an officer of the court, McCormick."

Mark looked up quickly. "I don't mean that. I mean," he hesitated. "I mean my starting place."

"Your starting place?"

"Yeah. See I remembered one of his early stage names. My mom gave it to him and she mentioned it. It was Tommy Ray. She named him after Johnnie Ray even though he didn't sing like Johnnie Ray at all."

Hardcastle straightened . "Tommy?"

"That's not his real name either. It just sounded a little like Johnnie."

Hardcastle said nothing for a moment. "You know his real name?"

Mark sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Does it matter? It'll never be my name. Something I have in common with Father Attia."

"Sonny's no mobster. He's not a killer. He's just . . ."

The corner of Mark's mouth went up. "Selfish?"

"Well, yeah."

"I know. Sonny is all about Sonny." Mark paused and then said. "You know, despite everything Joe Cadillac was actually a pretty good dad."

Hardcastle didn't immediately reply. Because the kid was right. Joe Cadillac was a gangster and a killer, but he was a pretty good dad. He certainly loved his kid. And, despite everything, Father Attia seemed to love him back. Maybe enough to become a priest. The Power of Redemption. He stared critically at McCormick. McCormick who had fled so quickly from Atlantic City. From Sonny. He had a guess as to what the kid was thinking.

"You know," Hardcastle said, "you don't have to make up for Sonny. Or try to be, I don't know, the anti-Sonny or something."

"Would it be so bad if I were?" Mark said softly.

"I'd just rather we worked on you, on Mark McCormick, than on Sonny Daye."

Mark gave him a light smile. "'We' kemosabe?"

Hardcastle relaxed and smiled back. "I'm rehabilitating you. Hadn't you noticed?"

"Some call it rehabilitation. Some call it yard work. It's a subtle distinction."

"I just have innovative theories."

"Here we are." Mark started as Mindy came up behind him. She placed a large plate in front of him. An enormous double cheeseburger, a boatload of fries, _and_ coleslaw. In front of the judge she placed a modest looking hamburger. Mindy leaned over Mark and said slowly, "Do you need help with the silverware?"

"I think I got it, thanks."

Mindy patted his shoulder. "Good for you. You should always challenge yourself. You two just holler if you need anything else."

Mark stared down at his plate. "Man, Catherine the Great must have been a big girl."

Hardcastle stared down at his lunch. He had lettuce on the side. He looked over at McCormick.

"You gonna eat all that?"

"Why not? I won the bet."

Hardcastle looked back down at his plate. "The fries too?"

Mark picked one up and popped it in his mouth. "Delicious. Sinfully so."

"You're not going to share, are you?"

"I have it on good authority that I don't really _have_ to share."

"This is the thanks I get for talking some sense into you."

Mark grinned at him, grabbed a handful of fries and dropped it on the judge's plate. "There. That's not me trying to tip some sort of cosmic scale for Sonny. That's just from me. The rehabilitated Mark McCormick."

Hardcastle bit into a fry. They were hot and salty, just how he liked them. "See, my innovative theories are working."

Mark nodded and swallowed. "Just one thing."

"What?"

"Touch my coleslaw and you die."


End file.
